


full tank away

by ybcpatrick



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Confessions, Hiatus, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Put it in a blender, Running Away, bishops knife trick inspired, cause I never edit my shit, dumped the purée of lyrics into pages, i took bkt, messed it all up some more, so basically:, so hopefully it's actually good, then wrote a fic around the bits, which you have all probably noticed by now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 16:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14084577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ybcpatrick/pseuds/ybcpatrick
Summary: "I wanna get out of here," Pete said, speaking low as if the walls could hear him. "I've got this feeling inside that I can't get rid of, or domesticate or anything... I've had it for weeks. I just wanna disappear. I've got a backpack with my stuff, a bass, and a few hundred in the glove box of my car. All we need is gas." Pete paused, swallowing down something that must've been fear. "I wanna get the fuck out of this city. I just need you to come with me."





	full tank away

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this since M A N I A came out and I finally finished it today so hereyago 
> 
> I haven't written since Christmas ;___; I'm ashamed but I hope this makes up for it!!
> 
> Enjoy!!

///////

Neither of them were strangers to impulsivity. Years upon years of going stir-crazy in tour buses and cramped vans would do that to a person, drive them to do stupid things on a whim. They'd tucked and rolled on abandoned back streets for the thrill, run around on hotel roof tops to watch the ground far below threaten them, run into rivers in only their shorts at three am because they'd just wanted to be free for a moment. It wasn't new. They were young, and dumb, and brazen. Four boys, chasing their dream and having the time of their lives doing it.

Those boys felt like a faraway memory; a dream, so realistic and tangible that it blurred along the lines of reality and begged to be a part of it. What started out as friends taking on the future together turned into something ugly and volatile. They parted ways to try and recapture themselves, and Fall Out Boy slipped into the blurred space. Four spitfires were let loose on the world for the first time, alone for the first time.

The first few years after the hiatus' commencement had felt like a film on fast forward. Pedal to the metal, channeling the fury and tearing up the calendar pages of 2009 and 2010 and leaving nothing but dust behind. Patrick had been riding a high, losing himself to days of recording and mixing for his solo project. Soul Punk, he called it. The perfect blend of himself, something to release his true thoughts to the masses and stake himself as a solo artist.

Patrick hadn't thought that "solo" would become synonymous with the word "pariah".

But so it did, and he toured and sang his heart out onstage and was met with waves of overwhelming response, more negative than positive. He has crawled away from Soul Punk's emotional toll like a puppy having disobeyed. On another impulse, he halted making his own music. Patrick resigned himself to small cameo appearances in songs and YouTube covers, unsure of how he'd pay for his next bills. The rest of 2012 looked rather bleak.

His little apartment felt more like a cage than anything; the blinds sliced the moonlight vertically, painting bars of black and blue across his bedspread. Patrick tossed and turned under the covers, letting himself get lost in his thoughts. _Maybe he'd get a part time job for now, make a little cash to keep himself afloat... Travie had called a while back, offering the idea of another collaboration... maybe Fal-- **no** , not that one, don't be _**_stupid_** _, Stump... maybe... maybe..._

The hypotheticals swirled around his mind, betraying his tired body and keeping him awake. Headlights outside drifted along the far wall of his room, giving his dry eyes something to watch as he hoped to drift into another one of his empty sleeps. The blue feeling seemed to swallow him up earlier and earlier these days, and whilst usually Patrick would fight against it, tonight he found himself waiting upon it, hoping that the thick blue mist would claim his thoughts and let him go away, just for a few hours.

It didn't come in full force tonight. The blue arrived, swallowing him whole in it's usual, morose way, but the bliss of a dreamless sleep eluded him.

Patrick turned his face into his pillow, swallowing down the tight feeling in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, fisted his hand in the sheets, praying to even get an hour of sleep that night. And for a moment, he thought it was working, as his eyelids were heavy and his breath was shallow. He wasn't accounting for the bed to dip behind him, rousing him yet again.

A cold nose and mouth were suddenly pressed against his neck, and a pair of arms snaked around his waist, squeezing tightly. The intruder curled themself up head to toe against Patrick's back, even throwing their leg over his own, and instantly he knew who it was.

"How did you even get in here?" Patrick whispered, bringing a hand up to grab onto the person's wrist. He didn't get an answer out of them, only feeling them squeeze tighter. Sighing, Patrick tried to roll over, also to no avail; they held him steadfast.

"Pete." He tried again, a little louder, disturbing the silence of the bedroom. Pete huffed on the exhale against his neck, making the hairs stand on end.

"Came in through the fire escape," Pete replied, voice barely a breath, "The lock on the window sucks, so I just slid it open." They lapsed into silence for a moment, and as an afterthought, Pete added, "You should tell your landlord about that. Wouldn't want anyone breaking in."

"Oh, like you just did?" Patrick asked dryly, smirking as he settled back into his pillows. Pete chuckled airily.

"Yeah, exactly."

Patrick rolled his eyes fondly, returning his gaze to the far wall. Pete synced his breathing with his, creating a lulling rhythm for Patrick's mind to follow as he returned to trying to sleep. It had been six months since the last time Pete had slipped into his apartment at night, falling back into old tour routines on his own quest for rest... Patrick felt like it'd been years, though.

When he really thought about it, he'd been living out of time, letting the summer days drift past him as he remained blissfully unaware, in an eternal, heatstroke-like daze. Maybe it wasn't healthy (okay, fuck, it really wasn't healthy at all, Patrick's brain was broken and he fucking couldn't get a grip), but he let it happen, too careless to stop himself from just existing.

Patrick had been so lost in thought, he barely noticed that Pete had whispered something until the last word.

"What was that?" He asked, fumbling over the words in embarrassment. He felt Pete squirm against his back, almost...uncomfortable (which he only questioned it, as it was not a very Pete thing to be).

"Leave with me." Pete repeated. His voice broke on 'me', and Patrick felt Pete's lips press into a line against his skin, trembling slightly. Frowning, Patrick hesitated, then turned his head to speak to his friend more directly.

"...I don't know what you mean." He stated, voice wary. He always jumped to the worst conclusion first. Pete could mean anything by the word 'leave'; leave the house, leave the city... leave the world. He had to be sure he didn't mean the latter.

Pete was still for only a moment, before he suddenly untangled himself from Patrick, sitting up and bracing an arm over his body. Patrick looked him in the eyes for the first time that night, and he saw something different there than the nights before, when Pete had only shown up to try and sleep. There was no tiredness in them, nor was there sadness or poorly masked pain; there was spark of hope, and maybe a hint of fear, which was out of character at best. But, his gaze was earnest and desperate, and Patrick found himself entranced as Pete stared him down.

"I wanna get out of here," Pete said, speaking low as if the walls could hear him. "I've got this feeling inside that I can't get rid of, or domesticate or anything... I've had it for weeks. I just wanna disappear. I've got a backpack with my stuff, a bass, and a few hundred in the glove box of my car. All we need is gas." Pete paused, swallowing down something that must've been fear. "I wanna get the fuck out of this city. I just need you to come with me."

Patrick stared at Pete for a long moment, eyes searching over every inch of his face for any sign of a lie or a prank. Pete stared back just as solemnly, looking for all the world like he was about to cry or run or sink to the floor in a heap. Patrick almost swore he could hear his friend's pulse... or maybe that was his own, thundering in his ears and rushing through his veins. Wetting his lips, Patrick sat up, setting his gaze on his comforter.

"Where would we go?" He asked, tentatively. Pete shrugged a shoulder, huffing out a sigh.

"Anywhere," Pete responded, "but I was thinking along the lines of home." Patrick's heart sunk at the mere mention, homesickness pooling low in his stomach and making him grimace. Chicago. He hadn't been back in almost two years. Glancing out the window at the L.A. buildings standing stark against the light-polluted skies, Patrick decided he never should've left his home.

Turning back to Pete, Patrick still saw only honesty in his features. He looked absolutely terrified, yet patient. It seemed as though Pete had come into this prepared to fail, and had broken into his apartment expecting rejection. He worried his lip between his teeth, anxiously watching his every move.

Patrick sighed, long and heavy, then shoved his covers off his legs. He didn't turn to look back at Pete as he slipped into the washroom. He didn't look at himself either as he gripped the edges of the sink. Was he really entertaining the thought of just leaving? What about everything he had here? Patrick's hold on the porcelain tightened at that thought, and he looked up at himself bitterly.

What the fuck _did_ he have there? An out of date sense of fame or belonging? An apartment that felt like a prison cell? A fan base who seemed to hate him? A broken hourglass that he was trying to put back together in his mind, hoping and praying to god that he could make it as if all the time the hiatus had gone on for had never fucking passed?

And would he really go with Pete? After all they'd done to each other? He loved him more than anything, more than Pete knew, more than just a friend. Of course, during the final days of Fall Out Boy before the hiatus, Patrick had been struggling just to exist with him. Pete was so dense at times, and dramatic, and impulsive and pretentious and just so fucking endearingly irritating. At first, Patrick was glad to be away from him, just for a while. But, as he'd come to realize over the past few years, he'd been struggling to exist without him, too. Six months was too long a time to not see someone, especially after having lived with them for a decade before that.

But then that familiar impulsivity, the feeling from youth that made his hands shake from adrenaline and his legs move on their own accord flooded back into him. Patrick looked out the open bathroom window, at the ground. Pete's car sat, idling, ready to tear off the curb the second they were in it. They were only a full tank away from freedom.

The thought of getting out of Los Angeles was fucking _exhilarating_.

Patrick scrubbed his hands down his face, then grabbed his glasses off the counter. Pete deserved his answer.

Pete hadn't moved an inch from where Patrick had left him, only having dropped his head to watch his own hand pick at the loose strings of the comforter. He didn't seem to notice Patrick's return, trapped in whatever he may have been thinking at the moment, with his sagging shoulders and deflated posture. Silently, Patrick slipped on a pair of socks, shoving a few more into a backpack he'd found slumped against the dresser. He shoved in a couple of t-shirts and a pair of jeans as well, and zipped it up, slinging it over his shoulder.

Gingerly, Patrick perched himself on the edge of the bed, twisting to meet Pete's eyes. A tear had worked its way down his cheek, creating a trail that reflected the moonlight in a strangely beautiful way. Carefully, Patrick lifted his hand and swept it away. Pete reached up, holding Patrick's hand in place over his cheek.

"Will you come?" Pete asked, timidly. He flinched as soon as Patrick cleared his throat to reply, his grip going lax on Patrick's wrist. Patrick chased him, gently framing his face with his hands. He made Pete look him straight in the eyes, stroking his thumbs along his cheekbones.

"Yes." Patrick replied. "I just need to get my shoes and guitar." Pete let out the breath he'd been holding, choking out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. His smile was watery as he pulled Patrick into a desperate hug, hiding his face in his neck. Patrick squeezed back just as tightly, cradling the back of Pete's head.

"Okay," Pete said after a moment, voice trembling, "I'll drive. Grab your things." Patrick nodded, carefully untangling himself and standing. He helped Pete up, too, not letting go of his hand for a second as he slipped his shoes on and grabbed his favourite acoustic. Without even grabbing his own keys, Patrick opened the fire escape window, crawling out it with Pete in tow.

They bolted down the rickety stairs and across the yard, an unfamiliar happiness shooting through them from their heads to their toes. A laugh bubbled from Patrick's chest as his heart thudded within it, panting as he shoved his backpack and acoustic in the back seat. He collapsed into the passenger's side, in sync with Pete in the driver's. Pete twisted the key in the ignition, the car rumbling in response. Pete sunk back in his seat, shooting Patrick a breathless smile.

"I love you." Pete said, before he could even think not to. Patrick didn't give him any time to regret it, surging over the centre compartment to capture him in a fervent kiss. Pete grinned against his lips, fisting his hands in the back of Patrick's shirt.

Nothing mattered in that second, as Pete repeated himself in a whisper over and over between kisses. Not the city, not the band, nothing but the way Patrick was scratching his fingers gently against the nape of Pete's neck and the way the car purred, ready to leave when they were.

It was Patrick who broke off, pressing their foreheads together as he caught his breath. He laughed quietly, fiddling with Pete's hair.

"We should go," he said, softly. He felt hope for the first time in a long time as Pete nodded, taking Patrick's hand in his and bringing his knuckles up to his lips.

"These are the last blues we're ever gonna have," Pete murmured against Patrick's skin, following his words with a short kiss. "I promise I'm yours, until the earth starts to crumble and heaven rolls away. I'm always yours, 'Trick. You won't regret this." Patrick leaned in to kiss him again, making Pete breathless again.

"I know I won't, Pete. I love you so fucking much," Patrick replied after he leaned away again, settling back into his seat. He turned his gaze to the road ahead. "Let's see how deep we get." Pete grinned, wider and brighter than Patrick had seen him grin in years. Quickly, he readjusted the mirrors, before ripping off the curb and speeding down the dark, abandoned street to find the nearest gas station, then catch the interstate.

They were going home.

///////

 

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on tumblr @ybcpatrick and on livejournal as @yngbldchrncls ;)


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